The Worrywart
by Kyer
Summary: Wally is no unemotional Batman. He openly worries about his non-meta friend. Dick gets reminded of this fact in a lightly humorous fashion. Rated for mild language.


Wally watched the tv news broadcast in a mild state of shock.

Apartment fire-lots of fire trucks-lots of ambulances-lots of people _hurt_.

Dark haired man-helping elderly victim-limping a bit-the man, not the old lady-dark haired man_ limping_.

Nightwing had been there-not as Nightwing though-not in uniform-_Dick Grayson_.

Dick Grayson at a multiple alarm fire. Helping._ Hurt_. Not speaking to the media. Avoiding them. Slipping out of sight.

Made sense. Nightwing wasn't anymore likely to pose for the cameras as Batman was. Secret identity issues. Bat Clan paranoia. Also sparkling good sense as Wally's own history with publicly known real names could attest. Smart bats.

Bat Kid.

Teen Titan alumni.

Best buddy.

That had _definitely_ been Richard Grayson stepping out of the burning apartment building.

Oh sure, he'd looked okay. Helped a little old lady across the all-but demolished threshold, brushing red cinders out of their hair...off shoulders.

Dick. Not dressed as Nightwing. No kevlar. _No anti-burning clothes stuff._ Burning cinders. Burning building. Dick. Maybe hurt. Maybe grievously. Maybe _dying_.

_Oh man._

Wally glanced at the clock, body vibrating at an increasing rate as his mind conjured up a bazillion bad things within the space of a second hand's tick. Tried to tell himself that he was being stupid because this was not a _This Just In_ news report.

Fire was over. News _repeat_. Over along with all the other half-an-hour ago news highlights.

_Fire._

_Limping._

_Half an hour ago._

_30-minutes.  
_

_Eternity in a Reader's Digest Condensed amount of time.  
_

Half an hour -a small eternity- to be emergency-room style _critical_.

West had to know. Had to see for himself and possibly save Dick from an early grave because Dick could be a real _Dick_ when it came to his health. Nightwing was like Bats more than he liked to admit to be and would bleed to death before acknowledging his stubborn ass needed help with a severed artery or something equally fatal and-gods-

_Dick!_

* * *

Dick sighed with relief as he finally reached his modest home, one bag of needed groceries at last in hand.

It had been a longer shopping trip than he'd originally planned for.

Dealing with a local fire as Nightwing was one thing; helping save lives without his night-job gear was another. His top was ruined from cinders burning through it. Little holes riddled the fabric of what had recently been an expensive shirt.

_Really_ needed to change from his best shirts when going to get a loaf of bread.

He could feel dozens of small burns on his skin, but they were all negligible. What mattered was that he had helped to save lives even when not camouflaged as Nightwing. Since he'd not done anything extraordinary (at least that anybody could have seen) that might associate him with his vigilante work...it was all good.

Well, except for his shirt.

And his feeling wiped.

Damn but if he didn't absolutely reek of smoke and sweat. Washing up was a priority _must_. He was looking forward to a nice, relaxing shower. It seemed just the thing to help him unwind and get some sleep in before it was _Nightwing's_ turn to patrol the city.

Grayson set the grocery bag down so as to get out his door keys.

A gust of wind blew his shirt and jacket askew when he reached an arm out for his door. Dick blinked. Another gust blew by him going in the opposite direction, leaving his clothing pretty much in the same state they'd been before.

Odd.

A micro burst?

Shrugging it off, Dick picked up his food purchases and entered his home. He placed the food in the refrigerator then staggered into his bathroom, shucking off filthy shoes and discarding his smelly clothing along the way. He'd deal with them later. Wearily, he rested both palms against the lavatory and blearily gazed at the sad sight of his exhausted reflection in the mirror.

What the _hell?_

Everywhere he'd suffered a scratch or a burn was bright red with a pale circle in the center.

Infections? Hives? Boils? An allergic reaction to something that had burned in the fire and released deadly toxins?

Suddenly more awake, Dick rubbed at his eyes then peered at his bared torso. He carefully inspected one 'boil'...then another.

Not furuncles or burns.

Plasters.

Red _plasters_ with white circles in the middle featuring a bright yellow lightning bolt.

_Oh._

Looked like his shower was on hold for another minute or two (damn the news cameras and bored, overly-anxious speedsters with nothing better to do than watch TV.)

The tired hero kicked his clothes around until he located the cell phone that was still jammed into one pocket of his jeans. Flipped it open and hit the _Flash_ speed dial button. The trick to diffusing this was to remain calm, cool, and collected no matter what.

"Wally?"

_"Limping-fire-burns. I-was-worried."_

"I'm fine."

_"Sure?"_

"Yeah." Dick plucked at one of the many first-aid devices decorating his skin; glad there was no one around to see the embarrassing things or the smile he couldn't seem to wipe off his face. "Seriously, man...The Flash Band-Aids?"

_"Joke gift from Linda. S'was all I could find on hand real quick 'cause Kyle already raided my stash of Clone Wars Yodas. I might have some Superman ones around here-"_

"Not what I meant, Wally."

_"Dude-s'no trouble. I'll find 'em. Give me a sec-"_

"Wally?"

_"Uh huh?"_

"Stop. Now."

_"Um...yeah? Stopped."_

"Good. Now, make a note: Next time just call Dick before rushing over with licensed-characters first aid kit. Better yet...only buy the plain kind."

_"'Ah...right. Call Dick first. No fun plasters...only boringly plain stuff for Bat kid. Got it."_

"And dude...thanks-you know-for worrying about me."

_"Man, Dick-you're my best friend...and I'm yours...old chum."_

"Wally..." Dick growled menacingly over his cell, "don't forget that I _know_ where you live."

_"Yes! Death threat from the Bat child! Now I know you're okay."_

Shaking his head, Dick turned off his phone. Wally's brand of insanity was undoubtedly incurable, but at least the anxious speedster was no longer imagining Dick one moment away from being dead. Anyway, his shower awaited. He'd find out soon enough if the silly_ Flash_ logo plasters were waterproof or not.

Curiously, he kind of hoped they were.


End file.
